


smelling boy in my empty twin bed

by howveryzoe



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, This is not a shippy fic, hans is an asshole, hanschen is called hans bc i liked the aesthetic of it, i love bobby maler a good boy who these fuckboys don't deserve, max von trenk is doing his best, max's perspective, slight implied abuse by hans' dad???sort of???a little??, so is bobby maler and i love him, stan anderson is also here, the r slur, tw cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 19:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11424840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howveryzoe/pseuds/howveryzoe
Summary: Max hadn't thought this would ever happen again but it's not like his life has ever gone according to plan





	smelling boy in my empty twin bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShippingEverything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/gifts).



> title from "two strangers" by kerrigan and lowdermilk (LISTEN TO THE MICHAEL ARDEN COVER MY DUDES)  
> i hate that i wrote another fic about the boys i hate myself but this is for lydia who i love  
> this is a modern au so max didn't like die

Max takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to compose himself, trying to stop shaking.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed and he literally hates himself. Because he’s an idiot.

An idiot who falls for the same bullshit over and over again.

The boy beside him stirs slightly, he fell asleep nearly immediately after which is such a dick move.

He’d forgotten that Hans was a dick in bed as well, he’d forgotten that it didn’t just melt away.

When they’d first gotten together he’d been fourteen and had no standards.

Now he’s sixteen and at the very least he can say he has some perspective.

He thought it was cute Hans went to sleep so quickly before. But now he sees it as the gross, selfish thing it is.

He has to admit though, and the admittance claws at his chest and makes his face heat up: he’d forgotten how good Hans was in bed. He might go so far to say that in the more than two years they’ve been broken up he hasn’t had a single lay as good as him. That’s why people put up with him, he thinks. You can be an asshole if you can work your tongue as well as Hans Rilow can.

Max rubs his face with his hands. He feels like he’s drowning in his own thoughts. How was he so dumb? He should never have come over. It had been a dumb impulsive decision. A response to a text. He had come over to fight. Years of living on his side of town, school yard brawls, idiot midwestern boys calling him the k slur, had taught him how to throw fists. He’s not a kid who should be messed with. At sixteen, he’s recovered from his childhood willowyness and is strong and tough. He’s the tallest boy by far in their grade (with the excuse of Lammermeier who is nearly 7ft he’d wager) and built from playing football. He could beat Hans Rilows’ slimy, skinny, short ass in a second. It wouldn’t even be a fight. 

But Hans was tricky. And smarter than him. He was a little slow. More brawn than brains. He’d come in that day with fists raised. Screaming for the boy to just leave him alone. Get out of his life. Of his head.

Hate and love are curiously similar emotions. Most people don’t realize this. The most dangerous do and use it to their advantage. Maybe that was why Hans Rilow had kissed him. Kissed him hard and knew that Max would kiss back.

There’d been no discussion from that point on. No “we shouldn’t.” No “this is wrong.” No “I hate you.” Just hands and buckles and slipping off sneakers. He couldn’t even remember who had grabbed the lube and condoms. He thinks it was Hans but he wouldn’t be surprised if he himself had done it. He still knew the drawer it was kept in. Muscle memory may have just led him there.

There first time had been at fourteen, in the summer before high school. He’d been on vacation with the Rilows. His mother had let him go with them alone as they were practically family. They stayed at their vacation house in Connecticut. Right by the beach. It had been a thunderstorm and Hans had woken him in the middle of the night. His eyes were slightly red rimmed. Then his heart had broken. In retrospect Max had wondered if it had been planned ahead of time. If it had all been a plot. Had been waiting months for that moment? Years?

“I can’t sleep. Thunder has me up. I’m sorry to wake you. I’m just freaked.” He had whispered and Max had kicked his sheets and off and sat up straight. “I couldn’t wake Thea. She wouldn’t understand.”

He had only nodded, silently.

Hans had explained when thunderstorms had scared him here as a little kid his nanny had taken him to their boathouse where it was quiet and windowless and it would calm him down. Now, of course, he and Thea were too old to have a nanny and there was only Max. So would Max please come with him? Just for a bit. A half hour at most. Just to calm down. 

Max had said yes.

The boathouse was stuffy and smelled musty, like sawdust and saltwater. It was full of old canoes and fishing rods and was dark, only a small light bulb turned on with the pull of a cord. Max felt claustrophobic immediately. They were too close. Too intimate. He began to shuffle his feet, inch away from his friend. Hans had noticed and sat down on the edge of one of the canoes, looking up at Max. Their eyes had met and Max remembered there’d been a crinkle in Hans’ eyes, like he found something funny. At that time it had left him confused. Now he thinks he understands. 

Then Hans had said he loved him. Very softly and slowly, like his voice was a hollow tree. 

His fourteen year old heart had burst and the room suddenly had both no air and too much of it at the same time. That had been the point of no return.

Thea found them the next morning, lying together in one of the canoes. She had yelped and giggled until Hans had placed his hand over her mouth and grabbed her harshly. Lying there on the floor of the boat, mostly naked, staring up at the twins, Max felt more vulnerable than he’d ever felt. It was the first of many moments sitting in that same part of his heart. 

“I’ll kill you if you tell dad. Don’t think I’m lying. I’ll fucking kill you.” Hans had said, and he had grabbed her ponytail and pulled on it. Max had gasped, and gripped the edge of the boat. 

“You’re hurting her! Hans stop!” He had screamed and Hans had froze. Both heads turned toward him as if they had forgotten he was even there. The ponytail slipped from his fingers and Thea had run out. Hans had run to him and taken his hands in his, helping him out of the boat. They’d stayed at the beach all day. They’d lain on coarse sand, the beach a mess from the previous night’s storm. 

It was all nice for a few months, he remembered. It was nice to sneak around at Hans’ house, fun to avoid his dad like in a twisted game of hide and seek. It was nice to be open in school, coming into high school with the blonde boy’s hands in his. His mother knew about it too. She’d been anxious, clearly. 

“I’m just saying mixing romance and friendship doesn’t always end well Max. Especially not at your age.” She’d said, brushing hair from his face. At the time he’d yelled at her and stormed to his bedroom. Now he wished she’d listened.

“It’s too late! I can’t un-fuck him.” Max had yelled on his way across the room, slamming the door behind him. He remembers he had called Hans up and sat on the floor of his closet, complaining on the phone with him for hours. Taking in the sound of his voice.

It was around November, the weekend after Thanksgiving, when he remembered things had gotten strange. Hans was angrier, distant, pushing him away, telling him less. They would meet up and screw and often nothing more. No chatting, no soft kissing, no watching movies or sharing bowls of marshmallows. Hans would always find some reason to get him away. Some obligation or something. He hadn’t noticed at first but eventually it began to bug him. It had been on their way home from school when he’d brought it up, turning to him on a nearly empty sidewalk.

“Are we going to your place today?” He’d asked and Hans had nodded. “For how long?”

“I don’t know, like half an hour maybe. My dad wants me to meet with some business partner’s of his today so I have to meet him at his office at 5.” Hans had said nonchalantly. Max had stiffened.

“So why are you having me come over them? I’ll be out the door nearly second after getting in.”

“Well, we’ll have time.” Hans told him and Max stopped in his tracks.

“Time for what?”

“Oh don’t play the virgin Max. It’s unbecoming.” Hans laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“I’m not coming over to your house just so you can fuck me.” Max had said through gritted teeth.

“What are you talking about? You’re my boyfriend?” Hans had looked incredulous, truly innocent.

“Exactly! That’s my whole point!” Max had yelled and Hans had flinched, looking around to see if anyone had noticed their conversation. Max had thought he looked like a hunted animal. 

“What’s your whole point?” Hans had asked and then shook his head and forced that slippery grin back onto his face. “You know what forget, you can explain it later. Let’s go. I’ll make you hot chocolate.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m going home, I’m not up to it tonight.” Max had said coldly and Hans had stared coldly oddly. 

“What the fuck Max?” He’d asked but Max had turned the corner and was on his way downtown, Hans left to head uptown. 

The next day in school he had apologized and things had returned to a sweeter normal for a whole week. A week that felt like the beginning of the whole affair. Hans had been so nice, so caring. He’d never, in all their years of friendship, seen Hans apologize for anything.

Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf, Max had thought.

He could still remember the Sunday night of that week. He had slipped out of Hans’ window and was preparing for the long walk to his side of town. He’d kissed him goodbye, sweetly, through the window, feeling like Romeo and Juliet. About a second after his feet hit the pavement and he took one final glance to the window, his phone had buzzed.

And that’s when shit hit the fan.

It’s bad enough to find out your boyfriend cheated on you. It’s even worse when they were your best friend since infancy. It’s even worse when it’s with the class douchebag who has repeatedly harassed you. And it’s worst when the way you find out is because his nudes got leaked. To the whole fucking school.

Everyone knew. Everyone knew that Max von Trenk hadn’t put out one day so a bored and wine drunk Hans Rilow had sent full nudes, not dick picks but full body mirror nudes, to Stan Anderson. Stan Anderson, the boy who always heckled Max when he went on the football field. The kid who was held back in kindergarten for not being able to share and spends his time hazing Freshman. The first person to ever call him a retard. Hans couldn’t have picked a worse person. Stan Anderson, a Sophomore who would go on to fuck a drunk Errickah Ulbrecht in the bathroom at their Sophomore prom. Rich, tall, handsome, perpetually buzzed, and who Max often saw selling pills to kids in his neighborhood. Max’s very concept of a teenage devil. That was who Hans had chosen to cheat with.

Max shut down. Stayed inside all week. Blocked the other boy’s number. Stayed in his room and cried. He felt so fucking empty. Like there was a perpetual hole in his stomach. No matter what he did he couldn’t fill it. He didn’t shower, didn’t brush his teeth, didn’t take off his pajamas. 

Going back to school was hell. All eyes had been on him and he wanted to just melt away. Hans had tried to find him but he had successfully avoided him all day. By the time they spoke again he had become the Hans they all knew. A suave, charming asshole with no care for anyone but himself. He seemed harder to Max. And much more like his father. He made more efforts to hide bruises now. Long crisp shirts and tight jeans. A constant grin and perfect hair. He was far more attractive than before, his acne had cleared up and the band shirts and cargo shirts were in the trash. But Max missed the old boy. It was like going through a death.

But Max had moved on. He’d hooked up with other guys, a few girls too. He’d fallen in love with football and his team who were there for him every step of the way. And he had his mom to take care of. 

He hadn’t meant to develop such a crush on Bobby Maler but Hans had beaten him to the punch. Contention arose again as it always did. The boy seemed interested in neither of them, calling them petty and claiming he had enough drama. But that only angered them both more. It was a race, who could get with the younger boy faster. Who could win at some unspoken battle.

Instead, neither had gotten close to Bobby and they were now in bed together. What a turn of events.

The truth was, Max really liked Bobby. He sincerely thought he was funny and cute. He thought Bobby could help him move on. Instead Bobby had led him here. It feels like Max has betrayed him in a way. Or like he and Hans just proved Bobby right. Either way he doesn’t like it. 

He thinks he could maybe cry. But he’s too big for that and he knows for certain Hans will tell everyone that Max von Trenk cries after sex if he wakes up and sees it.

Maybe things would’ve been easier if Hans had just been his first love. First loves are hard enough to get over. But best friends, best friends imprint on you. You can’t just lose that love, it’s been drilled into you like something habitual. A part of your nature even. He looks at the sleeping boy and no matter how disgusted he is of them both, he can’t help but feel love. Can’t help but wish this was normal and that nothing had ever changed. 

He’s already put his pants on and is working on his socks when Hans wakes up. Max turns and sees him rising, rubbing his eyes a little and brushing blonde hair from his face. It’s endearing, even with the shadows crossing his face in the dark room.

“You’re still here?” He mumbles and Max can only stare and say nothing. “Shit thought you’d be gone by now. Really tired you out huh?”

Max puts on his second sock and doesn’t look him in the eye.

“So, did you miss it?” Hans asks, a teasing glint in his eye.

No answer. Hans sits up on the bed and gathers his knees together.

“I bet you did. Damn I wish I could clone myself. Would probably be the best fuck of my life.”

Max has to snort at that one and Hans raises a single eyebrow. 

“You’re such a narcissist.” Max mutters, walking to pick up his shirt from the floor. 

“Did I ever profess anything different? Come on Max, you can’t blame me for this one. You knew what you were getting yourself into.” Hans bites back, calmly. Max can’t help but notice he isn’t even trying to get his clothes back on. He’s just sitting there, letting Max see all of him.

“Just fuck off, I got to get home my mom is probably worrying.” He tells him and Hans rolls his eyes.

“You’re such a damn mommy’s boy it’s almost Oedipal.” Max glares and tenses. “Oh come on it was a joke, you’re no Otto Lammermeier.”

Max swings his shirt over his head and clenches his toes. Just a few more minutes than you’re out the door and everything can be over. Everything will be fine.

“But you’ve certainly been screwing someone.” Hans says after a beat and Max has to turn now and meet the smiling cold blonde eyes. “I doubt you’ve improved  _ that _ much with only your left hand as practice.” Max feels his skin crawl and begins slipping into his sneakers, the tongue of the shoes getting scrunched up.

“Shut up Hans.” He says gruffly.

“I mean really it’s like you’ve suddenly gained the ability to actually give someone sexual pleasure, like before you just sort of rammed it around like a drunk little boy-”

“I said shut up!” He shouts and Hans flinches but then composes himself.   
“I forgot that you can’t take honesty. It’s so immature of you.” Hans tells him.

“Honesty? I don’t think you should be lecturing me about honesty pal.” Max spits and suddenly he doesn’t want to leave the room. He wants to fight this out. He wants to win this.

“Oh for God’s sake Max you’re not really still mad about?” Hans says with such condescension that Max feels like his tongue is stuck in his mouth. “Listen, we were fourteen, I was wine drunk, I wanted to piss you off, can’t you just let it go? I mean everyone seeing my nudes punished me enough.” 

“You were my best friend! You were my best friend and you betrayed me and never even tried to say sorry!” Max yells harshly and know Hans has jumped to his feet, the sheet draping his thin form.

“Okay that’s a lie and you know it. You blocked my number, I tried to apologize Max, you pushed me away.” 

“Pushed you away? You cheated on me! How can this be my fault?” Max shouts.

“You never even asked me why!” Hans says and there’s suddenly more passion in his voice than Max has ever heard from him. He’s more passionate now than he’s ever been in bed.

“Why Hans? Why did you ruin my life? Why did you break my heart?! Why did you make me lose my best friend? Please I’m dying to know why!” Max is roaring, rushing towards him and they’re so close and Hans looks so strangely young.

He looks like he might speak, malice in his eye, another witty comeback. Instead he sinks to the bed and stares up at him lifelessly, his arms hanging limp, his shoulders slumping. He looks like a marionette with his strings snipped. Only his head remains upright, and sad, empty blue eyes meet Max’s dark ones.

“ _ I don’t know _ . I don’t know why I did it.” He admits softly and his voice is like broken pottery. Max takes a step back. He thinks Hans might cry, or go back to his former guarded self. Either way he doesn’t want to stick around for it.

“I have to get home.” He says. “Don’t worry I’ll go out the back so your dad can’t see.”

“Max.” He says and it’s whispered like he’s begging him back to the bed. Begging him to stay.

“I won’t say anything. I don’t kiss and tell.” He assures him and is heading out the door, the hinges creaking ever so slightly, disturbing the thick silence of the large house.

“Max, please just stay a little longer.” He doesn’t sound earnest anymore, his voice has nearly no inflection. Max doesn’t know what he wants. What he’s ever wanted to begin with.

“I can’t Hans.” He tells him and is out the door. He hears, as he’s halfway down the hall, his name being called one last time but he doesn’t turn. Doesn’t turn even though the scream is guttural and choked with tears.

He won’t come back to this house, he thinks as he makes his way out the backdoor and through their backyard. Won’t sleep with Hans again, he knows this for sure. In fact he wouldn’t be shocked if that was their last conversation. He feels like a part of him has been sewed up, harshly and with large uneven stitches, but sewed up all the same. It’s over, he knows this now. He won’t get Hans back as a friend or a lover. Not now, not ever.

He’d seen him for what he really was: a sad broken little boy. And yes it was pitiful but, if he was being honest, it wasn’t really worth his time. There’s nothing he can do for him, not now. He can love him from afar all he likes, and he’s sure he will. And he can ache for him for years, but he can’t save him. Not without losing himself in the process.

Max is a good person, or at least he thinks he is. But he’s no martyr. He’s not losing his sanity to bring Hans Rilow some peace. It’s a losing battle.

He heads down the street, watching the houses get closer together and the bodegas and apartment buildings beginning to pop up. Hans’ upper class neighborhood is foreign here and he feels like he’s been washed clean of the earlier events. He kicks an empty pepsi can in front of him.

Maybe he’ll text Bobby at some point, ask him out properly. Or maybe he won’t. 

Right now he feels a mix of lightness and heaviness. It’s over. It’s finally over.

Hans doesn’t love him, or at least he doesn’t love him enough. And that’s alright, he thinks. It’s alright because he’s alive and he’s going to be fine. He’s going to be okay.

He reaches his building and prepares to go inside.

He takes a deep breath.

And lets it out.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah anyway that was dark hanschen is an asshole but like he's a very sad asshole and i feel bad for them both


End file.
